


Barely Breathing

by dancinbutterfly



Category: Entourage
Genre: (not my words), First Time, M/M, Pet Names, Sex, Spoilers for 5.07 "Gotta Look Up to Get Down", Straight Men Who Fuck Men, That White Couch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-24
Updated: 2008-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: Freddy made Vince an offer he couldn't refuse.





	Barely Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> **Betas and helpers:** [](https://waterofthemoon.livejournal.com/profile)[**waterofthemoon**](https://waterofthemoon.livejournal.com/) for the beta and [](https://just-abi.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://just-abi.livejournal.com/)**just_abi** for holding my hand through the writing process.  
> 

 

“No one’s gonna know.”

Vince flounders for several excruciating seconds before he takes a sip of his drink. He holds it in his mouth because he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and if he tries to swallow, he’ll choke and die on Freddy’s expensive hard wood floors, and then that’ll be one more of his messes E has to clean up.

“Oi.” Freddy stands, and somehow he manages to get his hands on Vince’s face. He doesn’t know how the hell _that_ happens, but it does. “Breathe, beautiful boy. Just breathe.”

His hands feel foreign. Alien. They’re bigger than a woman’s, rough. They span the entirety of Vince’s jaw.

“You breathin’ yet, Vince?”

 _No one’s gonna know_ hisses through his head with the voice of Jimmy from the drama club back in high school. For a second, Vince remembers looking at Jimmy’s hands and the way he grinned with crooked teeth.

He shakes his head as best he can. He really can’t figure out why Freddy’s hands are still there. He should try to get them off or hit him or something. Swallow, maybe.

“It’s all right, Vince,” he says.

His voice is gentle, and his hands are steady. Vince maybe leans into them a little bit, which makes him wonder what the fuck is going on here? Seriously, what? How did he get to this point, and what point is this?

“You’ll choke if you’re not careful,” Freddy advises. Vince’s throat moves, and the liquor burns down his throat in a way that it didn’t in his mouth.

“I—”

“Listen, Vince, this isn’t about the shoot. If you say no, I’m not going to fire you. Like I said, I’m a professional.”

“Right.”

“But if you say yes—” His teeth are crooked when he smiles. Not as crooked as Jimmy’s, but the NHS dentists didn’t do the man any favors as a child. “There’s things I can teach you, Vince.” His thumb slides over Vince’s lower lip, and Vince’s mouth opens in reflex. “I think you want to learn them.”

The word _no_ forms in his mind, but it dies in his throat. _Nobody’s gonna know_ is a promise, and Freddy’s the first man he’s ever met where he actually believes that. He’s got just as much to lose, maybe more.

“I’m not—”

“I know you’re not,” Freddy says.

He’s not humoring him. He’s serious, and Vince doesn’t know what to do with that. Especially not when those too big, too rough hands are still touching him like this.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Vince. On sex in general. This doesn’t make you gay. And even if does—” His head tilts like he’s looking through Vince, and fuck, maybe he is. “That doesn’t make you anyone but who you are.”

“I’m not, though.”

“’Course not. You’re not who you fuck.” Freddy says this like it’s common knowledge.

It makes Vince wonder if maybe he missed something last time he was in England. When he was there, it was still on Earth where, yeah, you sure as hell are who you fuck.

“I thought we were talking about a blowjob.”

“We were. Now we’re talking about fucking. The conversation’s progressed.”

“Freddy—”

And then Freddy is kissing him. Which, for a straight guy, is pretty fucking gay, Vince has to admit. It’s probably gayer that he finds himself moaning in the back of his throat. Or that somehow, he slides off the arm of the couch backwards onto one of the cushions. Freddy is stretched over him, one arm braced on the white fabric, the other tangled in Vince’s hair.

 _Nobody’s gonna know_ , Vince reminds himself as he lets himself fall back. Nobody. Not his ma. Not Ari. Not E. This is safe. It’s safe to let this happen just this one time.

He likes not being in control during sex. He’s always been happy to hand over the reins to a beautiful woman, but this is different. He’s being moved, but he’s being guided at the same time, and it’s so much less awkward-feeling. It feels less lopsided than it does when some five-foot-two bombshell orders him to eat her out.

Freddy moves him back on the couch so Vince is sprawled across it and eases him out of his clothes. In a weird way, it feels almost like he’s with E — there’s someone who knows better, so he’ll just trust that. It’s natural. Easy. Right.

“Has a man touched you like this before?” Freddy murmurs as he slides his hands over Vince’s chest, and no, this is so not just a blowjob.

Vince shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes his head, and Freddy laughs.

“That’s all right. Relax, Vince. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Right,” Vince chokes. “Fun.”

“Yes, fun. You remember fun, don’t you, Vince? You seem like the kind of bloke who has a lot of it.”

“My share,” Vince manages.

Freddy’s lips join his hands, and it’s not gay to let another guy touch you, Vince thinks. It’s not gay to like the way this feels. Touch is touch, and a mouth is a mouth, especially one that’s currently wrapped around his dick, sucking steady and strong with a swirling tongue.

It is gay, though, that he’s touching Freddy back. It’s gay that one hand is buried in his hair and the other is on his shoulders, clawing at freckled skin. It’s gay as hell that he lifts his head to watch, to see unpainted lips slurp and suck.

It’s super fucking gay that when Freddy ducks his head down so that his face isn’t visible, just his reddish-brown hair, Vince thinks, _god, E_. It’s insanely gay that the thought makes him come like a motherfucking freight train, just an explosion that snaps out of the base of his spine through his dick.

And the gayest thing ever is that he kisses Freddy after. For about fifteen minutes, he kisses Freddy, wraps his bare legs around Freddy’s waist and tastes himself on the other man’s tongue.

By the time Freddy gets out of his pants, tossing a condom and a couple small packets of lube onto the floor next to the couch, Vince has stopped trying categorize how gay the whole situation is. The answer is very, but he decides it doesn’t matter.

It is what it is, and he wants it more than he wanted Scarlett Johansson, more than he wanted Justine, more than he wanted Amanda. More. He fucking wants this right now.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Freddy says. His voice is low and warm. Vince is already loose from the orgasm, but that fucking voice is melting him. “You’ve never been so lovely.”

“If I saw myself right now, I’d probably run.”

“Nah,” Freddy says with a grin. “You’d probably fuck yourself.”

Freddy’s smiling lips are red like he’s wearing lipstick, but he’s not. That’s from sucking Vince’s dick. And kissing him. And god, fuck, Vince needs to be kissing him more, so he pushes up on those white cushions and takes Freddy’s mouth back.

They’re kissing when wet fingers touch his ass. He gasps into Freddy’s mouth when they enter, first one, slow and smooth, then two, pressed tight together.

He’s had a few girls do this, usually during a blowjob. It’s usually good, so he doesn’t freak out or come out of his skin or anything. It aches and stings, but it feels good, too, and Freddy’s still kissing him, so, yeah, whatever. He just goes with it.

He goes with it when the fingers disappear for a few seconds and come back with more lube and a friend. He goes with it until light explodes behind his eyes, and yes, fuck, yes he knows that feeling. The girls don’t usually get to that feeling, but the ones who do are girls whose phone numbers he keeps. God, he’s hard again.

He’s already fucking hard again, and Freddy isn’t stopping or slowing. Despite himself, he’s twisting like a whore on Freddy’s hand and shaking with terrified pleasure. None of the girls have ever gotten him to this point. He’s never let them.

“I’m—Jesus Christ, I don’t—” He looks up at Freddy with wide eyes and tries to figure out what the hell he wants – to have, to do, to feel. “I’m not—”

“It’s all right,” Freddy says, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of Vince’s neck. He sounds just like he did before, calm and warm like dripping wax, but he doesn’t change what he’s doing inside of Vince. His fingers are still pushing him harder and faster into chaos. “Just breathe, beautiful boy. All you have to do is breathe.”

That sounds easy, but Vince might die. It’s possible. Because he can’t fucking breathe. Everything else is too fucking much for something as difficult as breathing. He’s going to turn inside out, and how is he supposed to breathe like that?

Then Freddy’s fingers leave him. Vince bites on a whimper because goddamn it, he’s not that pathetic. He’s not, but he can’t actually open his eyes enough to watch as Freddy reaches down for the condom and tears it open. The package makes a soft ripping noise that Vince can hear over their panting. As Freddy covers himself, Vince stops trembling long enough to draw in air.

“That’s good,” Freddy says, lifting Vince’s left leg off the hardwood floor and pulling it up to rest on his shoulder. “Now, breathe.”

Vince takes a deep inhale, his body limp and his dick hard, and then all of it is pushed out of his lungs in a sharp cry as Freddy’s dick pushes inside. It hurts. It burns. It aches. It feels like it’s too fucking much. It feels full, and he didn’t even know he was empty before this second.

His hands claw at Freddy’s back, and his entire body bucks, making sensation spike through his whole body. “Fuck!”

“Yes,” Freddy murmurs, rolling his hips. He pushes up into Vince, then slides out, taking part of Vince’s sanity with him. “Fuck. Fuck you feel so fucking good, Vince.”

“It—” Vince tries. “It’s—Freddy, just—” _Stop. Slower. Deeper. Touch my dick._ All would be good things to say right now as Freddy moves at a pace that feels like being caught in a wave. What he manages is weak by comparison. “Please.”

It’s the right thing to say, though, because Freddy bends down to kiss him again. That moves something, shifts Freddy’s dick inside him, and suddenly Vince is suffocating on pleasure again. It’s smothering him from the inside, and he’s choking out small pants into Freddy’s mouth with every movement.

Freddy’s right hand is wrapped around his ankle, and his left is braced on the couch next to Vince’s head. His movements are small and shallow, and the longer it goes on, the more blood rushes to Vince’s dick.

It’s good, but with his hands still anchored to Freddy’s shoulders, there’s nothing but air on his dick, and it’s not enough. It’s close, though, so close that he’s actually starting to hurt.

Then one of Freddy’s legs drops off the couch, and he brings the other one up so that he’s half kneeling on the couch, half standing on the floor. He doesn’t let go of Vince’s leg, so it bends Vince back over himself in a way he just might not be flexible enough for.

But it’s so deep that it’s like Vince can feel Freddy behind his lungs and in the back of his mouth. Every thrust expels all the air from Vince’s body, and every time Freddy’s pelvis hits his ass, stars go off in Vince’s head.

Freddy kisses his leg and reaches for Vince with his free hand. His long fingers wrap around him and begin to move, but by that point, it’s not really about his dick so much anymore.

For Vince, the world has shrunk to the way he feels when Freddy’s dick slams into him as deep as he can go, bottoming out and laying him open. He’s totally powerless over the way his body jerks and moans and bucks against the invasion. It feels like his heart’s changed speed to match the rhythm. He’s a different person right now—bent in half, exposed and full, used and wanted, out of control and dying from the way it feels.

This person is easier to be than who he’s had to be lately. He’s a safer person. He feels better. He feels better than probably anything Vince has felt in his entire life.

Freddy shoves in deep one time too many, and Vince comes, shaking and spasming around Freddy, who doesn’t stop. If anything, he speeds up, and it feels like everything’s being pulled out of Vince. He curls upwards as he comes all over Freddy’s still moving hand and his own chest.

Vince falls back, shivering as Freddy keeps fucking him through the aftershocks. It’s almost too much, and his brain isn’t working anymore. There’s noises coming out of his mouth, little grunts into time to Freddy’s thrusts, but he has no control over them.

He has no control over anything, including the _too-much-too-much-oh-fuck-too-much_ feeling of still having Freddy inside him after two orgasms so close together. He kind of likes it that way, though. He doesn’t have to try and think, and he can’t fuck up. All he can do is feel and watch and listen.

Freddy’s accent somehow gets thicker as his hips move faster. His mouth gets filthy, stuff that would’ve made the guys Dom went to prison with blush. His hands slide over Vince’s body, not worshipping like some of the starfuckers he’s been with, just feeling. If Vince wasn’t so turned out, it’d be hot. But it’s like he’s one raw nerve, and this is just something else to over-feel.

Freddy’s whole body goes rigid as he comes with an unintelligible curse. Vince’s hands slide from their grip on his shoulders to his lower back and ass, and Freddy’s whole body jerks. He groans Vince’s name and his whole body sags, mercifully backwards so that Vince’s spine doesn’t crack in two.

Vince doesn’t hold back a hiss when Freddy slips out of him or a sigh when he lets Vince’s leg drop over his. Freddy runs his hand up Vince’s thigh to his stomach and slides his fingers through the come in Vince’s chest hair. He looks down at Vince with a fond, tired smile.

“You still breathing, my beautiful boy?”

Vince surprises himself with a laugh. He didn’t think he had the energy for that. “Yeah.”

“That was a bit more than I was expecting,” Freddy admits, thumbing Vince’s nipple. “But then I love it when things pass my expectations. Bloody hell, but you’re a fucking amazing man, Vince.”

“It’s why I get the big bucks,” Vince says, trying for a laugh.

It falls flat because god, it suddenly occurs to him that he’s become a whore between walking into this apartment and spreading his legs for Freddy Line. And that revelation hits him heavy and ugly in a way the whole gay thing didn’t even touch.

“Right then. You should get cleaned up,” Freddy says, avoiding the change in his face. “Shower’s through there. I’ll clean up here and leave your clothes on the bed, all right?”

Vince thinks too much in Freddy’s huge shower. He thinks about the fact that Freddy offered him this job in the first place because he wanted him. He thinks about the fact that it’s been more than an hour, and Christ, the guys are still downstairs waiting for him. He thinks about Natasha and how he doesn’t really care about her and their history so much anymore—that yeah, it really was a principle thing. He thinks about how much he misses having a shower this big. He thinks about how Freddy and E both have freckles on their shoulders and wonders if all guys’ freckles tastes the same or if E’s taste better.

As he dries himself off, he thinks about how he aches inside and tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to face the guys after just been fucked. Well, besides by lying of course. That parts obvious. There’s no fucking way he can tell them this. He’s pretty sure they wouldn’t believe him anyway.

He comes out of the bathroom in a towel, and Freddy is standing there. His clothes are back on, his hands are clean, and there’s a tall, thin glass in his hand. He holds it out, and Vince takes it, glancing at the clear liquid.

“Ice water,” Freddy says. “Ancient family recipe. You look like you could use it.”

Vince takes it and savors it while Freddy stares at him. He finishes off the glass and hands it back to Freddy with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sunshine. You all right?”

“I—yeah. Listen, Freddy—”

“You’re not going to panic on me now, are you, Vince? Because I meant what I said. Nobody’s gonna know.”

“Yeah, it’s not about that. It is, but not that exactly.”

Freddy sits down on his bed, which is covered in a blue duvet that’s a stark contrast to the wood and white of the rest of the apartment. He holds out Vince’s boxers, and Vince takes them, wondering at how weird this is. Mostly because the whole guy thing isn’t the weird part.

“What’s the problem?” he asks as Vince pulls on his boxers and undoes the towel.

“I can’t do the shoot, Freddy,” Vince says. He rubs at his hair because if he goes downstairs with wet hair, they’ll know. They’ll ask.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Vince shakes his head and laughs in disbelief. “Because you just took my fucking virginity on your goddamn couch. It’s so far from professional, it’s on another planet.”

“Lovely, that.” Freddy smiles and looks a bit like a shark. It’s oddly attractive. “But I really don’t see the problem.”

“I don’t fuck people I work for.”

“You didn’t fuck me,” Freddy says. Vince opens his mouth to retort, but Freddy holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Sorry. Joke. Listen, Vince, I think you could make Dolce and Gabbana a metric fuck-ton of money, and they want to give you a million dollars to do that for them. You’re gorgeous. The camera fucking loves you. Even if you’d told me to go fuck myself, I’d still have kept you on this shoot. You’re what it needs.”

“I just—I can’t, Freddy.” _I won’t be anyone’s whore_ hovers on the tip of Vince’s tongue. He knows Freddy doesn’t think of him that way, so he keeps it behind his teeth, but he’s not willing to bend on this like he did on the couch.

“This another one of your principles?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Well, then.” Freddy reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. For a horrible second, Vince thinks he’s judged this guy totally wrong, but then he holds out a small blue card. “That’s my information. Personal cell, not my assistant. You ever want to give this another go, you give me a ring. Any time.”

Vince stares down at the card. There’s not anything he can do with it at the moment—his boxers don’t have pockets. But he clenches his hand around it and looks back up at Freddy. “And I’m off the shoot?”

“You are. Terrible fucking waste, but that’s life. I’ll have a talk with Ed Westwick’s people. He’s got a strange face, but he’ll be gorgeous with Helena, and we can get him for half as much. As for you?” He shrugs in resignation. “Armani underbid us by a hundred grand. I’ll tell Shauna to call them.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Freddy says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him to stand between his legs. “Can’t let a beautiful boy like you go hungry, can I? And don’t worry. Their head of marketing’s a militant dyke, so I can guarantee Sonya doesn’t want to fuck you.”

Vince’s hand’s go to his shoulders on instinct. His head’s a few inches above Freddy’s, so he has to think about it as he lowers his head and kisses him. It’s a sane, no excuses kiss that tastes cool and mild.

“You’re not a straight man,” Vince says.

Freddy smiles. “No, I’m not. And you might be bi.”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Freddy says.

Freddy kisses him again, warm and soft with slightly parted lips that lasts just long enough to make Vince’s mind drift out to the living room, then rises off his bed. They stand close together for a moment before Freddy moves past him to the door. “You should get dressed. I think your friends are starting to worry.”

“Yeah, they probably are getting pretty pissed.”

“Can’t please everyone, sunshine.”

“No,” Vince agrees. He’s learned that one the hard way, but he did okay today. “Hey, Freddy? Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Freddy says with a smile. He closes the bedroom door behind him, and Vince is alone with his thoughts and his clothes, facing a long trip downstairs to where his friends are waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting here after 10 years.


End file.
